


Secret Truths

by panda_shi



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Discord: Tenzō's Cabin, Established Relationship, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gore, Love, M/M, Not Boruto: Naruto Next Generations Compliant, Post-Naruto Time Skip | Naruto Shippuden
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27889210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_shi/pseuds/panda_shi
Summary: For kisudoodlesTenzou's greatest fear is that the man he loves and respects the most would know the truth. Because the truth isn't always liberating. Sometimes, the truth is total destruction.
Relationships: Umino Iruka/Yamato | Tenzou
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43
Collections: Found Family 60-minutes





	Secret Truths

**Author's Note:**

> Self beta'd. I may have missed some stuff.
> 
> NOTE: Please mind the tags. Dark themes ahead. This is your final warning.
> 
> Written for the #Tenzou's-cabin-discord-event. This entry is written for Kisu (@kisudoodles - tumblr) for Found Family, body horror, Mitsuki. 
> 
> I also want to say that I know nothing of Boruto and I've taken many liberties here. The info I have/used/taken liberties with are from the wiki.

It always starts like this:

Tenzou jerks from the bed with a strangled gasp getting caught in the prison of his throat at the spike of distressed chakra emanating from beyond the bedroom door. He is on his feet, chakra compressed all the way in, one hand grabbing the short sword he always keeps within reach under his side of the bed, unsheathing the blade and tucking its silver gleam under the shadow of his back, away from prying eyes, not wanting to draw gazes to its gleam, not wanting his alerted presence to gain any attention.

His other hand takes form of a wooden spike, ready to extend forward to pierce or bloom to a shield to defend and buy seconds time before he swings with his other hand, cutting flesh with blade, if necessary.

Tenzou’s bare feet carries him beyond the bedroom door, down the short turn and the flight of stairs, his back pressing to the wall as here, on the stair landing, Iruka’s distressed chakra is stronger. It hangs thick in the air like summer humidity condensating, trickling down the quiet walls of their home slowly, seeping into the floorboards. It’s heavy, it’s choking. It gets punctuated by a gasp, a sob, a sound of a wounded animal that leaves Tenzou’s heart jackhammering under his ribcage as he tightens his grip on the blade, his eyes flicking up briefly at the second bright yellow painted bedroom door at the top of the landing, laden with stickers and Mitsuki’s name engraved on the grain of the wood. 

He can’t sense the two year old anywhere. 

He can’t sense anyone else either. The walls and solid wooden foundation of his home betrays no foreign shadow, no foreign presence. Nothing.

Iruka’s chakra thrums weakly as he chokes again, and that is when Tenzou steps the last few steps in the landing, right into the light, his chakra still tightly compressed only for it to plummet completely on the floor, just like the rest of him. The blade clatters noisily, sliding a few feet forward and into a pool of blood that is creeping slowly beyond the kitchen tiles and into the polished wooden floors of the hallway.

There, in the middle is Iruka, kneeling on the floor by the kitchen island, where the chopping board has been abandoned, along with mixing bowls now filled with crimson splattered batter. Tenzou can’t tell if the chopping board is littered with chopped oranges, strawberries or flesh, not when the entire counter top is covered in blood and shorn pieces of meat. 

And Iruka -- _oh gods --_ Iruka is on his knees, on the floor, his sweatpants that he had gone to bed with no longer a light gray but a grotesque shade of crimson. His wash worn favorite t-shirt is no longer white, but instead a ruby fabric that glistens under the sunshine pouring from the floor to ceiling glass windows lining one side of their kitchen, sticking wryly to his body. In the sunshine, Tenzou can see Iruka _shaking,_ his hands trembling, horrified, as he tries to piece the pieces of flesh around him, the dull waning green thrum of the first aid jutsu Iruka has used on Tenzou a thousand times over the course of many years fading in and out because Iruka has been pushing his chakra beyond his limit. He’s been trying to knit together flesh for gods know how long. He kneels there, cradling a small head with one unseeing golden eye craned all the way up to the ceiling, the once lovely lavender-silver sheen of Mitsuki’s hair matted with blood and pieces of meat, as if he had playfully taken a tray of ground beef and smacked his little hands in the middle, getting pieces of their dinner in his hair. Iruka’s hands are drenched with the oozing crimson, red liquid as clear as rubies. They float down in a slow sticky trickle to the usually pristine light gray tiles of their kitchen floor, gossamer crimson strands making webbed links to the pieces of torn meat from a child’s body on the floor. 

Tenzou staggers a step backwards, one hand coming up to his mouth as he stares at Iruka weep with abandon, apologizing over and over again, his loose hair hanging around the sweaty sheen on his face. Tenzou stands there frozen, as he watches the love of his life, his beloved Iruka, try to fix the mess on the ground, brown irises invisible when his pupils are blown so wide with the horror around him. Tenzou watches — oh gods — as everything in his stomach roils with the disgust at the smell, the stench of the broken body of their child, the boy he had brought home almost a year ago, the child that Iruka had grown so dearly attached to, so weak for, the child Tenzou has watched over the course of the year that followed how Iruka would look at him like he is the most precious thing in the world. 

The child that is everything Iruka has ever wanted, uncaring that the child had its challenges, extremely sensitive hearing that would result in him being distressed, sometimes crying for no reason if the sounds around him are too loud, distraught him for hours at a time in the very beginning. They’re not quite disabilities but something Iruka has been working on diligently like the ever so attentive parent he has become. Tenzou has watched Iruka gently slip on a pair of earmuffs over Mitsuki’s ears whenever they go out to town, has watched Iruka rock him to the soft hum of the radio playing in the living room, singing to him and tickling him in his arms, nuzzling his head and grinning down at him, all while Mitsuki reaches up with short stubby fingers, grinning right back and speaking broken words that can mean anything. Iruka has gone as far as convincing Tenzou to help him teach the boy field shorthand to foster better communication. They’ve been working on it, the field shorthand that is. Mitsuki is a surprisingly intelligent child, quick to absorb information. 

Tenzou didn’t think Iruka could be more beautiful, loving a child that belongs to a monster. A child that can grow up to be an even bigger monster because Mitsuki’s blood is belongs to the biggest traitor, the most cruel and inhumane existence there is. 

Mitsuki _is_ Orochimaru.

Tenzou _knows_ this. He’s burned documents and data proving that Mitsuki is the sixth successful survivor of Orochimaru’s clone grown in a test-tube, suspended in chemicals and wires, much like the vague memories Tenzou sometimes thinks he has, of all those years ago when he had been a helpless, young boy, trapped within a glass chamber that betrayed nothing beyond except for the endless dark.

Except Iruka didn’t care. Not after Tenzou had finally told him the secret truth he's been choking on last night, the truth on what Mitsuki really is. Not after confessing. Iruka had kissed him and said, _I love you and I love him. It doesn’t matter where you two come from. What’s important is that we are a family now_ . _And that you, Tenzou, have given me the greatest joy I can possibly have in this world.  
_

(Relief. You felt relief. Finally saying the truth, that is.) 

Tenzou _gags,_ as the squelching sound of Iruka scooping up flesh echoes loudly in the stillness of the carnage. Iruka drags his forearm across the floor, trying to shape it into a body of sorts, much like how Tenzou remembers vividly just a few months ago in the summer, when Iruka had pushed sand with his forearm by the shoreline, helping Mitsuki build sandcastles, while his hand held a mound in the sand that Mitsuki repeatedly patted with his hand, laughing and gods, so, so _happy_ , giggling when the waves comes and smacks him and Iruka, jostling them with its gentle force.

Iruka does the very same thing now, holding Mitsuki’s head, where one side of his skull is gone, cracked open, the orbital bone jagged like the edge of a broken, shattered fine china. Iruka who pushes that scooped blood and flesh towards what had been Mitsuki’s neck, knitting flesh that doesn’t quite knit with first aid chakra desperately because Mitsuki is dead. 

Mitsuki is in _pieces._

It wouldn’t matter how Iruka tried, how he manages to gather the bigger pieces of what looked like a body that exploded from within. It didn’t matter if Iruka manages to salvage a small foot that he keeps beside his knee, or the measly four or five pieces of fingers, or the some of Mitsuki's toes, or if he’s managed to lump together the majority of the length of Mitsuki’s digestive tract. 

Mitsuki is _dead._

Tenzou clambers backwards and backwards until his back hits a wall. His knees are weak, unable to hold his weight anymore as he sinks to the floor, the soft thud making Iruka look up, wild eyes, his mouth hanging open in a cry.

“I didn’t --” Iruka _chokes_ , the syllables garbled. 

Iruka tries to speak again, words not forming. I didn’t do anything, Tenzou manages to understand, as Iruka sobs with abandon, staring down at what remains of Mitsuki’s head. I didn’t do anything, Iruka repeats. I just said I loved him so much. That I don’t care what he is. He is my precious baby boy. I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything, I didn’t do anything--

Tenzou shuts his eyes, scrunching his eyelids, willing the image of Iruka cradling the biggest piece of Mitsuki, pressing his precious son’s head to his chest and _sobbing_ like a wounded animal, his hair hanging forward like a mourning veil to go away.

Tenzou grits his teeth, his breath coming out loud and hissing through his teeth as he shakes, shakes, shakes, his family, oh gods, his _family,_ Iruka is never going to recover from this, he’s never going to be happy again, oh gods, that little boy who Tenzou believed might just grow up to something good, something beautiful just like his father, oh gods, oh gods!

Tenzou’s chakra _spikes,_ as something tears past his throat, the floors of the house jagging with spikes as he brings his hands to his ears, fingers fisting in his hair as he realizes that this might just be the juinjutsu he had read about in the facility, how it’s been successful in safe guarding the origins of Orochimaru’s Tsuki, how it’s also been the cause of the death of the first five.

How effective it is. That just the whisper of it's knowledge of origin had caused this carnage.

Tenzou opens his mouth to scream ---

*

\-- and jolts up with a jerk from the bed, his chest and neck coated in sweat, tank top sticking to his back. He quickly gathers his chakra, sucking it up like he’s been stuck into a vacuum, one hand coming up to clamp sharply over his nose and mouth, muting his distressed breath as he looks at Iruka’s side of the bed. 

Iruka is awake. He’s downstairs.

It’s Sunday. It’s Iruka’s special breakfast day.

Tenzou exhales slowly, getting out of bed and quickly opening the door to their bedroom, where sure enough, the sound of the radio playing in the kitchen reaches his ears. It’s playing Iruka’s favorite pop song, the one he and Iruka constantly sings to Mitsuki, as they dance in circles sometimes in the kitchen, sometimes in the living room, sometimes in the bath when Iruka kneels by the tub and puts on a show with Mitsuki’s bath toys.   
  
Tenzou rushes down the stairs, his feet loud, uncaring anymore and right there, in the middle of the kitchen, is Iruka humming along to Mitsuki’s broken attempt to form words, Mitsuki who is singing off tune to the song itself, but uncaring, legs kicking over the edge of the counter, as he watches Iruka flip thick, fluffy pancakes over the stove. Iruka who has his nose wrinkled and chuckling with amusement at Mitsuki expressing himself. Mitsuki who no longer wears ear muffs around their house anymore, who has been adjusting remarkably well thanks to Iruka’s patience.

“Oh, Otou-san,” Iruka says, looking over his shoulder at Tenzou, dimples dotting his cheeks. “Good moring, love~ Say good morning to Otou-san, Mitsuki,”

Mitsuki lifts his hands, and signs rather brokenly with field shorthand before garbling out something that sounds like, _goo-momo-tou-san._

Tenzou is crossing the space between them, reaching up to jerkily turn the stove off, shocking Iruka to alarmed silence before he wraps his arms around Iruka, his other arm scooping MItsuki off the counter and wrapping them both in his arms. Tight. Desperate.

Iruka goes still but quickly adjusts and wraps an arm around Tenzou’s middle, one hand coming up to press on the back of Tenzou’s skull, smoothing out damp strands with his fingers and pressing lips to the side of Tenzou’s head from where it’s buried in Iruka’s neck. Hanging from the side, Mitsuki kicks and waves his arms, thinking it is play time, dangling between his two fathers like this, his happy giggles filling the space of their home. 

“Tou-san! Tou-san! Tou-san! Up! Up!” Mitsuki says, making a soft demanding noise at the back of his throat.

Tenzou pulls back, shuddering a soft exhale, pressing his forehead on Iruka’s and looking at Iruka who is staring up at him with all the love in the world.

“We’re okay,” Iruka murmurs softly, understanding. Ever so understanding. Always so, _so_ understanding. "We’re okay, Tenzou. Our family is safe…” 

The verbal reminder grounds Tenzou. 

But it does nothing to ward away the fear he keeps tucked in his heart. It does nothing to ebb away the shame of not telling Iruka the real truth, that the child Iruka so very loved belongs to Orochimaru, _is_ Orochimaru. It does nothing to make Tenzou feel better about lying to his lover, his partner, his greatest strength.

Tenzou closes his eyes when Iruka kisses him, his arm gently rocking Mitsuki against his side, who gurgles a pleased sound.

“Let me finish here,” Iruka murmurs into the kiss. “Why don’t you take Mitsuki outside, get some sunshine?”

“Hmmm, all right,” Tenzou whisper-hums, kissing Iruka one more time, long and lingering, sweeping his tongue over the tiers of Iruka’s lips and diving into caverns of Iruka’s mouth, brushing lazily over Iruka’s tongue, as the jackhammering of his heart slows down under his ribcage. 

“Go already,” Iruka says, giving Tenzou’s ass a firm slap, his arm pushing Tenzou away before he turns back to the stove, dimples dotting his cheeks, a flush dusting over his cheeks and down the length of his neck.

Gods, he’s beautiful, Tenzou thinks, as steps away and brings MItsuki up to his shoulder, whose short arms wrap around his neck, the constant stream of Tou-san, Tou-san, falling past small lips as Tenzou carries him past the kitchen door and into the lavender garden beyond.

Tenzou follows Mitsuki, letting him wander in the garden, chasing butterflies that flutter aboud the field of Tenzou’s devotion to Iruka, little fingers swatting at the orange and black flutter of wings.

His family is okay.

His family will be okay.

He just has to bury a secret so deep within himself because he can’t afford Iruka slipping. He can’t trust the chance of Iruka saying I love you, I don’t care where or what you are, to their son. He can’t.

He won’t.

(He won’t have to watch his whole world fall apart if he just buries the truth. He won’t have to watch Iruka break, or Mitsuki shatter to pieces, if just this once, he refuses to be truthful to the man he truly loves and respects the most. It’s okay this time around, isn’t it? Lying by omission? When he’s only doing it to protect? Right?)

He watches as Mitsuki jumps and falls on his butt, eyes widening in shock as he turns to look at Tenzou, looking like he’s about to cry.

“Stand up, Mitsuki,” Tenzou says softly, crouching on the ground and offering no help. “Go on.” Mitsuki’s chin wrinkles, but he pushes himself up and stands on wobbly, short legs. “Want to go get flowers for otou-chan?”

“Yee!” Mitsuki cries, hand forming the field shorthand for yes!

“Go on, then,” Tenzou says and exhales a soft, grounding breath when Mitsuki wanders down the path, following behind him towards the stretch of the rose bush by their fence, where they pick nine, Mitsuki pointing at the biggest blooms. 

  
FIN

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! First time doing this sort of thing. THAT WAS FUN! 
> 
> ~~Also, I am weak for Tenzou/Iruka being dads and family ahhhhhhhhhh, I really enjoyed this! Ahhhhh!~~
> 
> Also, 9 red roses means eternal love.


End file.
